Never Forgotten
by WibbleyWobbleyTimeyWhimey
Summary: A one-shot about Colin Creevey's last moments.


A/N: Just a one-shot about Colin Creevey's last moments. Please R & R! 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

...

Colin was not about to watch his castle, his home, burn. Why shouldn't he be allowed to fight? Hogwarts was his sanctuary, his school, his life. It didn't matter what the teachers said. He was 16, for crying out loud. He wanted to help, and he should be able to.

When the sixth years were being led to safety, Colin turned against the motion of the crowd. He would save his home or die trying.

When the death eaters came, Colin swallowed the sudden wave of panic that was rising in his chest. This was what he wanted. Fear was not an option.

Colin drew his wand.

_Eleven-year old Colin was receiving his letter from Hogwarts. He remembered the thrill, the rush, the terror, the joy of reading the first lines: Dear Mr. Creevey..._

The doors of the great hall burst open. Colin stood his ground.

_He remembered the happiness he felt as a tattered old hat was placed upon his head, and it shouted, "Gryffindor!" He remembered his legs trembling in excitement as he walked to the table filled with cheering students._

A wave of black-cloaked witches and wizards poured into the room. Screams rose as spells started flying. Remember what Harry taught you, in the D.A., he thought, knocking over a Death Eater with a stunning spell.

_Colin remembered meeting the famous Harry Potter, following him, almost worshipping him. He remembered his old camera, the pride he'd had in those first moving photographs._

He ducked as a flash of green light shot over his head, hitting a window and shattering the glass. He retaliated with Petrificus Totalus, smiling in satisfaction as another Death Eater went down.

_And then Dennis had come to Hogwarts, too. Dennis was his best friend, always had been, always would be._

Another jet of green light went flying past Colin's head, and he turned to see that madwoman Bellatrix smirking at him.

_He remembered the rush of watching Quidditch, the smell of the field, the cheers and the taunts of the crowd, the sound of Lee Jordan's voice echoing throughout he stadium._

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted. Bellatrix deflected the spell, a bored look on her face.

_He remembered the smell of the Gryffindor common room, the sound of the fire crackling merrily, the feel of his bed after a long day._

"Ooh, we've got a feisty one!" she taunted, grinning. "How old are you?" Colin didn't reply, trying to send another curse her way.

_He remembered the noise of Zonko's, the warmth of butterbeer on a cold winter day, the spooky intrigue of the shrieking shack. He remembered hours spent with Dennis in the Three Broomsticks, laughing and chatting about everything under the sun._

"Don't try to be a hero, boy," she said as she dodged his spell. "Heroes die. Heroes are forgotten. Join us, and your legacy will live forever."

"Never," Colin growled.

_He recalled Dumbledore's Army and the sense of purpose and accomplishment that it had given him. He briefly remembered the words of Dolores Umbridge cutting into his flesh, but that memory was crushed by an overwhelming sense of pride. _

"Suit yourself," Bellatrix said, and she raised her wand.

_Colin remembered his first kiss, under the mistletoe in the fourth floor corridor. He remembered the smell of fresh parchment and ink, the sound of a quill scratching across a page. He remembered the chill of the dungeons, the warmth of the Charms room, the excitement of Defense Against the Dark Arts._

Colin raised his wand to defend himself just as a jet of green shot from the tip of the witch's wand.

_He remembered Dennis, and Harry, and Ron, and Hermione. He remembered Susan Bones and that kiss... He thought of Dennis again. Colin sent up a silent goodbye to his brother. It was the end._

The killing curse hit Colin squarely in the chest. He was dead instantly.

Bellatrix was wrong.

In the dead of night, Dennis would awaken and weep for his best friend.

Susan kept a picture of her first love under her pillow, taking it out whenever she felt alone.

Harry kept all of Colin's photographs locked in a desk drawer. Sometimes he would pull them out and show them to his children. "These, kids," he would say to their attentive ears, "were taken by one of the bravest Gryffindors I have ever known."

Colin Creevey was never forgotten.

...

**A/N: please review!**


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